San-Cravate; or, The Messengers; Little Streams Part 69

"Ah! I have caught you."

The young man blushed, and hastily rose to his feet.

"Pray forgive me, monsieur," he faltered, "for presuming to take down one of those books; but I had to wait--and I thought that--that----"

"There is no occasion to apologize, my friend; you have done no wrong.

On the contrary, it is greatly to your credit that you are fond of reading. What book have you there?"

"La Rochefoucauld's _Maximes_."

"That is rather a serious work; what do you think of it?"

"What he says is very sad, and does not give one a very high opinion of men. But I'm afraid it is true."

Monsieur Vermoncey looked at Paul in amazement.

"Really, my friend," he said, "you are no common messenger; I have noticed already that you express yourself in much better language than most of those in your station, and now your opinion of this book proves that I was not mistaken; you have had a good education, have you not?"

"Yes, monsieur; an excellent man, who had no children, became interested in me and took me into his family when I was hardly ten years old. He was kind enough to send me to school; and I was so happy not to remain ignorant, that I made the most of the instruction that was given me."

"How does it happen that your patron, having given you an education, allowed you to become a messenger? He should have completed his work and found you a place."

"Ah! monsieur, it was not that excellent man's fault. He took me into his own office as clerk; but at his death I lost everything, place and patron. It was then that I became a messenger; it was necessary for me to earn money."

"To a.s.sist your parents, I suppose?"

Paul lowered his eyes, and murmured very low:

"Yes, monsieur; it was for them."

"I understand you now!" cried Monsieur Vermoncey; "you are a good son; you sacrificed your hopes, your future, to what you considered the duty of making yourself useful at once to those who gave you life. Poor fellow! your conduct is very n.o.ble. But you must leave a trade which is not for such as you. Yes; I will undertake to find you an honorable and lucrative position."

"Oh! monsieur--such kindness!"

"Why, it is not more than justice. Anyone can see that you ought not to be a messenger. Do you know how to write?"

"Yes, monsieur; my handwriting is not very bad; I know how to figure also."

"Very good. I will find a place for you, never fear. I can't promise that it will be very soon, for here in Paris there are so many applicants for even the smallest places, that there are very few vacancies; but I promise you that--yes, within three months you will have changed your position in life."

"Mon Dieu! what have I done to deserve that you should take so much interest in me?"

"In the first place, all that you did the first time I ever saw you, to help me to find my son; and, secondly, you attracted me at once; I felt that you were a worthy young man. Rely on me hereafter; I propose to replace the protector you have lost."

"Ah! monsieur."

Obeying an irresistible impulse, Paul seized Monsieur Vermoncey's hand and put it to his lips, then let it fall, and drew back, as if he feared that he had offended him; but Albert's father, deeply touched, took the young man's hand and pressed it warmly.

"Come, come, be of good heart, my friend; you will make your way. But, pending your change of occupation, will you do another errand for me--take this letter and this casket to one of my friends?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur; whatever you choose; I am at your service, and shall always be; even if my position should change, my devotion to you would remain the same. You will see that my heart is not ungrateful."

Paul took the letter and casket, and hastened away to deliver them at their destination. He acquitted himself of his commission with his accustomed zeal, and his new patron said, as he dismissed him:

"I shall not forget you, my friend; I shall begin at once to look after a place for you, for I shall not be content until I see you engaged in some employment worthy of your education and manners."

Paul thanked Monsieur Vermoncey again, and took leave of him, mentally returning thanks to heaven for giving him a new protector. He began now to believe that Elina's delightful plans might be carried out, and that the dreams of happiness of which she so often told him might some day come to pa.s.s.

XXIV

WINE.--CARDS.--BLOWS

It was eleven o'clock in the forenoon; Sans-Cravate, who had done a good day's work the day before, carrying billets-doux for several young men of fas.h.i.+on, who are always generous when they are in good humor, had gone off to walk as usual with Jean Ficelle, who led him toward Pont d'Austerlitz, to the place where games of chance were usually in operation.

As they walked along, the two friends, who had already refreshed themselves several times, talked with much animation; and the amusing part of it was that while one of them talked on one subject, the other talked on another, and neither of them listened or answered; which did not prevent them from going on.

"Yes!" said Sans-Cravate; "I don't think any more of her than if I'd never known her. Damme! if anybody should ask me now what color Bastringuette's eyes are, I should be hard put to it to answer. I don't remember."

"And you see," said Jean Ficelle, "there is people who say that you never win at cards. But that's all nonsense! and the proof is that I might have made my fortune if I hadn't been a coward."

"But to say that she wasn't pretty, that there wasn't something alluring about her--I should lie, if I denied it. But all women have that.

Parbleu! you only have to be in love to find it out."

"Look you, I'll give you a comparison: You haven't got any money, and you stake what you have--then you win! But if you have anything, you're afraid of losing it; so you won't risk it, and you miss the chance of making a fortune."

"And that fellow who's always looking at me, and acts as if he wanted to speak to me. Oh! just let him come--I'll give him a warm reception! It ain't that I've seen him with Bastringuette. No, I'll have to admit that; since that day on Rue Barbette, when we met Paul dressed like a swell, and Bastringuette a little farther on--I've never seen him with her, and they do well to keep out of sight! For if they should act as if they meant to laugh at me--why, by heaven! it would go hard with 'em!"

"And then, you see, there's some who are mighty smart--they always win.

I know one fellow--and he's a great swell--who makes six francs a day with _biribi;_ that's a trade that would suit me down to the ground!"

Suddenly Jean Ficelle put his hand on his comrade's arm and stopped him, saying:

"Look, they're already at it, the rascals! They go to work early, they're no sluggards!"

The messengers had reached the river bank, near a game of _table-ba.s.se_, run by a tall fellow whose tongue was never at rest; he bewildered his audience by his incessant chatter.

A number of men of somewhat forbidding aspect were gathered about the game. But as two countrymen approached, the spectators made room for them; and the sharper offered them a dicebox with some little b.a.l.l.s, crying:

"Come, messieurs, try your luck! every throw wins something, and it's only twenty sous a throw; and for twenty sous, if you choose, you can win a magnificent silver repeating watch, or a cover of the same metal, which you can have the pleasure of presenting to your good wife; or a thimble,--also of the same metal,--with which you can do homage to your venerable mother, if you are fortunate enough to possess her still."

The peasants could not resist the temptation; one of them took the dicebox and threw the b.a.l.l.s, and Jean-Pierre counted. (_Jean-Pierre_ is the sobriquet by which these charlatans call one another.) He counted with amazing facility and dexterity; his addition always seemed perfectly fair, but no one ever won prizes worth more than two or three sous.

"Come, messieurs, keep on, try your luck again," cried Jean-Pierre; "that throw turned out well for Jean-Pierre, but the luck will change; you'll win the big prizes, messieurs! and Jean-Pierre will be in the hole. But he will always be only too happy to fulfil his engagements with the honorable company."

The peasant, who had won only a box of matches for his twenty sous, threw again, in the hope of having better luck, and the product of the sale of his cabbages, beans, and strawberries soon pa.s.sed into Jean-Pierre's pockets.